


we have stained these walls (with our mistakes and flaws)

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne was not a great parent, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Umbrella Academy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Bat Academy, where you can't spell dysfunctional without fun.





	we have stained these walls (with our mistakes and flaws)

_ “This is Vicki Vale with Gotham News Network, here to bring you the most important facts. Our first story tonight is one that will shock all of you Gothamites. Bruce Wayne, reclusive billionaire, has been found dead. Authorities have concluded that the most likely cause is a heart attack. Wayne is most known for his famed “Bat Academy.” Wherein he adopted seven children and raised them to fight crime. And as we’ve learned from Stephanie Brown’s tell-all memoir...” _

.

.

.

It’s bright and sunny the day of the funeral. It should probably be raining, Dick thinks. To show their sadness... or something like that. But the sun is shining, and the black suit Dick wears is getting stuffy.

Dick is the first one there. He’d been in Blüdhaven, promoting his new movie, when the call came. He had booked a ride back to Gotham before he even realized he was doing it.

Alfred comes over, holding a tray of lemon cookies. They had been Dick’s favorite when he was nine, but he hasn’t had them in years. He wonders how Alfred even remembers.

Dick carefully picks up a cookie and bites into it. He redirects his attention back to the gravestone. It stands next to two others: Martha and Thomas Wayne. Even so, it looks almost lonely.

“I believe Master Tim will be arriving soon.” Alfred says. Dick nods.

“Why do you think B did it?” Dick asks. He’s half talking to himself, but Alfred still replies.

“Pardon?” 

Dick turns away from the gravestone to look at Alfred. “Why’d he take us all in?”

Alfred doesn’t look surprised by Dick’s question. Then again, Alfred never looks surprised. “As you know, Master Bruce lost his parents at a young age. I suppose he wanted to take you in to ensure that none of you would grow up lost, as he did.”

“Well look how well that worked out.” Dick snorts.

Alfred opens his mouth, but is interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“Ah. That must be one of your siblings.” Alfred turns around and walks back into the house.

Dick follows after him, throwing away his half eaten cookie along the way. He doesn't like lemon cookies anymore.

‘

‘

‘

Tim isn’t sure what to expect when he walks into the house. He hasn’t been home in forever.

The first thing Tim notices when he enters is the feeling of emptiness. The Manor doesn’t look like a place where people actually live. The floors gleam, and the furniture is positioned precisely. It’s completely perfect, and completely wrong.

Tim remembers when he used to draw on the walls with his siblings, and when they were inevitably forced to clean it up. He remembers the constant  _ noise  _ in the house. Laughter and crying and music. So much music. Now, the Manor is almost silent, and the walls have all been painted a dull gray color. 

. Alfred is the one to open the door. Dick stands a few feet behind him. 

“Welcome home, Master Tim.” Alfred, for his part, looks as happy as he can be. Given the circumstances. “I shall prepare some tea.”

Then he walks away, leaving Tim and Dick awkwardly standing there.

“So….” Tim starts.

It’s not that he feels shy or whatever. It’s just- he hasn’t seen his brother in years. Tim doesn’t know who Dick is anymore. It’s strange to think that, when they used to exchange secrets over ice cream and conspire to prank Jason, but it’s true. Dick is a stranger to Tim.

“I’ve missed you.” Dick says. Because he’s nothing if not polite.

“Yeah, me too.” Tim smiles, and so does Dick. It’s a little tense, for both of them, but it’s progress.

Alfred comes back with the tea and they chat for a bit. Then, Tim excuses himself to go put his stuff in his room. 

He walks to the next floor, where all of their old bedrooms are, but instead of taking a left to reach his, he takes a right. Tim ends up outside Bruce’s room. Unlike the others, there’s no cheesy “ _ Keep Out _ ” sign or tacky decorations. There’s only the large brown door, almost intimidating, even though Tim knows no one’s behind it.

Tim takes a deep breath before opening the door. Something about this whole thing has been bothering him, tickling at the part of his brain that wants things to make sense. Some things aren’t adding up about Bruce’s death, and Tim needs to find out the truth.

As Tim walks around the room, he doesn’t really spot anything out of the ordinary. Although, it's not like Bruce ever let anyone into his room for more than a few minutes. Tim is about to admit he was wrong and walk out of the room when he sees something.

The portrait of Bruce’s parents that hangs on the wall is crooked. It’s so slight that Tim hadn’t noticed it before. It could mean nothing, but…. Bruce was a huge control freak. Especially with things relating to his parents. He’d never let that picture be anything but straight if there wasn’t a good reason for it. It has to be a clue. Which means Tim was right. There is more to Bruce’s death than it seems.

Tim is forming a vague idea in his mind when his thoughts are interrupted by a loud crashing sound from downstairs. As he runs towards the noise, all thoughts of murders and conspiracies are wiped away.

.

.

.

Cass doesn’t want to be here. Not in this large Manor with all its ghosts. She especially doesn’t want to be here while she’s high.

“I told you smoking right before the funeral wouldn’t do you any favors,” a voice comments.

“Shut up Jason,” Cass signs.

And that’s another thing. No matter how much Cass drinks, snorts, or injects, she can’t get Jason to go away like all the others. At this point she’s not sure if she’s actually there or just another one of her hallucinations. Cass doesn’t know which of those would be most painful.

Alfred comes into the kitchen, carrying a broom. Cass had gone through the window (literally), and now there are glass shards lying all over the floor. Also, Cass might be bleeding somewhere, but she’s too numb to feel it.

“Miss Cassandra, I must implore you to be more careful,” Alfred lectures. Like Cass is twelve again and had just fallen out of a tree after being dared to climb it by Duke. Not twenty four and the family disappointment.

Alfred has a smile on his face, but his body betrays him. He’s sad, grieving for his son. Cass feels bad for adding to his burden.

“Sorry,” Cass signs. Alfred brightens a little.

Dick and Tim come running into the kitchen. Jason calls out insults at them.

“We heard a noise. What was- oh.” Tim stops talking as he catches sight of Cass. 

Cass waves at them. Neither Dick nor Tim wave back. After a few seconds, she awkwardly puts her hand down. 

"Wow," Jason mutters, "the old man's dead and they're still following his example." Cass doesn't respond. Even if Jason is really there, it's not like the others can see him.

"I'm here for the funeral," Cass signs. Even though nobody asked.

"That's great," Dick says. His smile looks genuine, but every part of his body screams wary. Cass looks over at Tim, he's the same.

It's weird to think about. They all used to trust each other completely. It was them against the world (or more often than not, their father). But now, Cass' siblings are  _ scared  _ of her. She feels a sharp stab in her chest at that, but tells herself it's just the drugs.

Cass squeezes her hand and feels a dull pain. She looks down and sees glass pieces embedded in it. Oops.

Alfred notices the glass at the same time, and ushers Cass away to another room. With a pair of tweezers that he'd gotten from… somewhere, he carefully picks out each shard before wrapping Cass' hands with a bandage. Cass has to admit it's pretty nice. She's almost forgotten what it's like to have someone take care of her.

There's a knock on the door and Tim enters, a serious look on his face. He's changed since the last time she's seen him. Not just his looks, but his whole demeanor. He's sadder now, more serious. So far from the boy who used to help Cass and Five hide various pets from Bruce.

Alfred says something about leaving Cass and Tim to talk. He packs up the medical supplies and makes his way out of the room. As soon as the door closes behind Alfred, Tim sits down next to Cass.

"I need to ask you a favor." Tim says. Cass doesn't even know what the favor is, but she'd do anything to get her brother's trust back. "Can you contact B?" Anything except that.

"No," Cass signs. 

Tim looks at her with pleading eyes. "This is important. I think there's more to Dad's death than we know."

"Might as well do it," Jason says.

When did he appear again? And where did he go in the first place? He can't have much to do, being dead and all. 

Cass is about to refuse again. No matter what Jason says, she doesn't think trying to contact Bruce's ghost would be a good idea. But… she knows Tim. When he latches onto an idea, he doesn't let it go.

"Fine," Cass signs, "but don't expect any results."

Cass closes her eyes and pushes the static away at the edge of her mind. She focuses as hard as she can and reaches out.

"Dad," she signs, "Are you here?"

She waits for a few minutes. But there's nothing. No response.

Cass sighs and opens her eyes. She can see a few ghosts except Jason lurking at the edges of her vision, but none of them are Bruce.

"Sorry Tim," Cass signs, "I can't find him."

Tim's face, which had been tentatively hopeful, falls. Cass looks away, she can't deal with his disappointment right now. Cass wants to do something. Console him maybe. But she takes too long to decide what to do, and when she looks over again, Tim is gone.

.

.

. 

Duke doesn't bother going in through the front door. He doesn't want to deal with everyone just yet. Instead, he enters through a concealed back entrance he'd found while exploring when he was ten. He's pretty sure none of the others know about it.

Duke is fairly sure he’s one of the last ones there. Not that there are many of them left. What with Five and Jason being… gone. And now Bruce. But he was busy. Duke has a job to do, and Gotham won’t protect itself. 

The thing is, Duke knows he could do anything else. Become a writer, or a scientist, or even a paleontologist like he’d dreamed about when he was a kid. He could choose any other career path than vigilante. Hell, he probably should.

But Duke remembers why he chose this. He had been spiraling one day, wondering about what-ifs and what could have beens. So, in a moment of  _ wonderful  _ judgement, he’d decided to hack into Bruce’s files to find out about his birth parents.

What he’d learned hadn’t been great. Elaine and Doug Thomas, poisoned by the Joker. Three months before Duke had decided to look them up. He’d been too late. So now, Duke watches over his city, saving everyone he can. 

As Duke walks through the Manor, he hears a voice. It sounds vaguely like Tim. And Duke is completely fine when fighting criminals, but dealing with his family is a whole different story. He ducks into the nearest room and waits for Tim to pass.

Once he’s certain he’s alone, Duke takes out a file. He’d  _ acquired _ Bruce’s autopsy report from the morgue. Looking over it, everything seems so… normal.

A heart attack. Most likely caused by stress. It's not entirely unbelievable with the type of life Bruce led. The man probably didn't even know the meaning of relaxation.

But still, it feels a little underwhelming. Bruce was always so much larger than life. For him to die this way seems almost unreal.

Duke puts all the papers back in the folder and lets out a breath. He doesn’t technically need to breathe more than once every few hours, but he has it on good authority that he looks weird whenever he doesn’t. 

Duke pulls out his phone and checks it. At this point, he knows he’s just stalling. But he really does not want to have to face his siblings.

There are four missed calls, twenty three texts, and one very angry email from Barbara Gordon, a private investigator who Duke sometimes works with.

Duke sighs before putting his phone back in his pocket. For the first time, he examines the room he’d crawled into. There are piles of books laying around and half finished poems scattered on the floor. Hanging over the bed is a faded Lord of the Rings poster. This… this is Duke’s old room.

There’s an old photograph on Duke’s desk. It shows the family on one of their rare vacations outside Gotham. In the picture they’re at Disney World, everyone wearing a pair of plastic mouse ears. They all look so  _ happy _ , like they aren’t carrying the weight of the world. Duke walks over to the picture and picks it up. On the back of the frame, a single sentence is written: “ _ Maybe things will be okay _ .”

Suddenly, Duke needs to get away. He can’t deal with this, not now. He opens the window and jumps out, landing in a bush. He brushes off the leaves before walking around to the front of the Manor. He might as well get this over with.

Duke lifts his hand and knocks on the door.

.

.

.

Until the very last moment, Steph honestly wasn’t sure if she was going to attend the funeral or not.

Ever since she wrote that book, things have been different between Steph and her family. They hadn’t included her much beforehand, but after the release of Steph’s memoir, her siblings had started purposefully excluding her.

And Steph knows, okay. She knows she has no one but herself to blame. But she was lonely, and hurting, and so, so _angry_. Steph had just wanted someone to know how she felt. To understand what it’s like to be treated as something lesser just for being born without powers.

One bad decision led to another. And before long,  _ My Life as Number 7 _ was a New York Times bestseller. And yet, Steph still didn’t get what she wanted. People were more interested in the family drama than her emotions, and when the craze died down, Steph was alone again.

Steph is used to being alone. Bruce had never allowed her to go on missions or train with the others. Always citing her lack of abilities as an excuse. The only consistent company Steph had had was her violin. 

So when Steph gets a message about Bruce’s death, her first thought is “ _ so what? _ ” Her second thought is that that was a horrible reaction. No matter all his faults, Bruce probably did care about her deep, deep down.

Nah, who is Steph kidding. That man cared about nothing but himself and his delusions of grandeur. He thought he could save the world, but he couldn’t even figure out how to parent a couple of kids.

One of Steph’s alarms rings out and she stands up. It’s time to take her medication. The pills are supposed to help her with her depression, but mostly they just make her tired and muted. She doesn’t know why she hasn’t switched yet. It’s just, she’s been taking them for so long now, at this point it’s just a normal part of her life.

Steph goes back to her bed and flops down. She is not going to go to Bruce Wayne’s funeral. No matter what. Her siblings probably wouldn’t notice or care if Steph didn’t show up.

But, there’s something in Steph that’s telling her she  _ needs  _ to be there. Call it instinct or intuition, but Steph knows something important is going to happen at that funeral.

Well, it’s not like she has anything better to do.

Steph drags herself out of bed and books an Uber. She walks over to her closet and looks for a black dress to wear.

.

.

.

Once everyone arrives, they begin the funeral proceedings. It’s small, since they’re the only ones there. Yet it manages to be even more awkward than a regular funeral.

Tim is standing off to the side, pointedly staring at nothing. Duke is picking grass off his shirt. Cass is signing at thin air. And Steph looks exceedingly bored.

Dick wonders what happened to all of them. They used to be, maybe not close, but able to spend time in each other’s company without constantly second guessing every action. 

Alfred walks up and makes a speech about Bruce. Talking about all his accomplishments and what a tragedy it was that he was taken so soon. Dick is ashamed to admit that he zones out.

Dick’s attention is drawn back by Tim’s voice. He and Duke seem to be in some sort of argument.

“Listen, the painting was crooked.” Tim says.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Duke replies.

“Yeah it does. It shows us that Bruce could have been murdered.” Tim is yelling now.

Duke matches his volume. “I  _ saw  _ the autopsy report. It’s a normal death with normal circumstances.”

“Look, you didn’t know Bruce like I did. You wouldn’t-”

“What the hell are you trying to imply?”

They’re getting dangerously close to Jason’s statue. It’s a seven foot tall memorial made of marble. It depicts Jason nobly fighting off a criminal. Happy and alive. A smug smile on the stone face. He would have hated it. 

“I’m just saying,” Tim seems to be attempting to calm himself down, “That I stayed while you and all the others left.”

“Oh don’t you dare,” Duke’s voice is even, eerily so, “Don’t blame us for needing our space. It’s not our fault that you couldn’t see Bruce was obviously using you.”

Dick can’t tell who throws the first punch, but suddenly Duke and Tim are fighting. Dick considers rumoring them to stop, but even the thought of it makes him cringe. To control people’s actions with a few words, that’s too much power for one person. 

There’s a loud crash, and Jason’s statue is lying on the ground. The head is broken off, and every other part is shattered. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but Dick can’t bother to think of it.

Cass walks over and surveys the damage. She kicks at a spare piece of stone before looking up. “Great job guys.” She signs.

Everyone disperses, presumably to their own rooms. Dick’s is empty, when he left he’d packed away everything he wanted and thrown away the rest. All that remains are white walls and an empty bed frame.

The Manor is too quiet. Even with all of them there, there’s practically no sound. And there are thousands of things that Dick can’t fix, but this is one thing he can.

Dick takes out his phone a speaker. He hooks the phone up and puts it on max volume before choosing a song.

The song is a fairly old one, and truth be told it’s not that good. But it’s one that they all used to listen to. Back when they were younger. 

As the song plays, Dick can hear his siblings joining in. Raucous singing floats through the thin walls, and loud thumps give evidence of dancing. Bruce would disapprove if he were there, which makes it all the better. 

For the first time in- longer than he can remember, Dick actually feels happy. It’s strange. 

Suddenly, there’s a bright flash of light from outside. Dick looks through his window and sees a swirling vortex. In his experience, a vortex has never been a good thing.

Dick rushes outside. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his siblings do the same. 

When they’re all standing right under the vortex, it widens. What happens next is something that Dick did not expect at all. A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, falls out of the vortex. It closes behind him, the only indication that it was ever there the leaves blown around the yard.

Dick steps closer to get a better look at the boy. He has various small injuries peppering his arms and legs, but that isn’t what shocks Dick. What surprises him is the fact that the boy is wearing a school uniform and bears a shocking resemblance to… to-

“Five?”

.

.

.

For a few seconds, Damian is afraid that he failed. After all, his plans were conjecture at best. And the League had taken much longer than forty years to discover time travel. But when Damian hears Richard’s voice, he knows he’s succeeded.

Though if Richard recognized Damian… that can’t mean anything good. Sure enough, when Damian looks down at his hands, they’re smaller than usual. He reaches out to touch his face, and it’s devoid of any facial hair. All of this leads Damian to the conclusion that he’s been physically de-aged to thirteen years old. Ew. He’s going to have to go through puberty again.

Damian sits up, wincing as a jolt of pain rushes through his arm. It must have been injured in his fall. He ignores the pain and answers Richard’s question.

“Damian.”

“What?” Timothy is the one to ask.

“My name. It’s Damian.”

“But how are you here?” Richard asks.

“It seems that Father was right about one thing at least. Time travel is unpredictable. I ended up in the future, where I spent forty years, and just now managed to get back here. Although it had some unwelcome side effects.” Damian inspects his younger body with distaste.

His siblings look like they’re not sure whether or not to believe him, Damian doesn’t understand why. They’ve all seen so many impossible things happen. What’s one more. He tells himself their belief doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they help him.

Damian looks past his siblings and sees the broken remains of what must have once been a statue of Jason. That’s interesting. Damian had assumed the statue had broken during the apocalypse, but it seems it happened earlier. 

Stephanie catches Damian looking at the statue and her face softens. “A few years after you disappeared, Jason...”

Oh. She must have assumed that Damian is unaware of the death, and was therefore taken off guard by the statue. He hurries to assure her that this isn’t the case. “I know he’s dead. I read your book.”

Stephanie winces, and Damian gets the feeling that he’s said something wrong. But he’s been alone for so long that he doesn’t really know the proper way to speak to people anymore. 

Damian shrugs off his guilt. He has a mission. He can’t afford to waste time on making sure he doesn’t unintentionally hurt any of his siblings’ feelings. Not if he wants to save their lives.

Damian pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the fact that his arm feels like it’s about to fall off. His time with the League has taught him how to pretend not to be in pain. How not to show weakness. Damian scans the area, trying to figure out exactly what time he’s jumped back to.

Judging by the fact that everyone’s there, it’s probably the day of the funeral. This is not good. Damian had been aiming to come much earlier. Preferably when Father was still alive. The man hadn’t been the best, but he knew what to do when there was a crisis.

But Father is not here, and Damian is. And he has eight days to prevent the end of the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> This will be continued... sometime. Please leave a comment if you like it :).


End file.
